Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.
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Carol noticed that the solitude of the woods didn't seem to affect Merle as much it did his brother. In fact it appeared no matter the circumstance or place-Merle seemed as much at ease wherever he was. Daryl, she knew of old-would have visibly relaxed as soon as he was under the cover of thick foliage. She sensed that for him, it was a sense of belonging, a habit of feeling steadfast reassurance in old familiar settings. In amongst the trees, he thrived, he could be himself and not have to bear the heavy awkwardness of unwanted but inescapable company and the all too judging stares and stigma that his old way life brought back all too often. In fact, Carol had often seen, that if it hadn't been for Daryl, a lot less of the group would be alive now. His hunting skills had kept them fed when other food sources were scarce-especially after the Greene farmstead and all those long empty miles on the road. He'd helped protect them despite his natural reluctance in being part of a group, had even now become a vital asset within their extended family.
A cool breeze blew at her face and as she walked she let her eyes close briefly to the gentle touch on her skin.
They walked steadily together, the thick carpet of pine needles in parts of the woods muffling all sound, even the stead thump of their booted feet. A heavy stillness pervaded, the only noise she heard was their joint breathing and the occasional rustle of some unknown animal or bird winging carelessly through the undergrowth, leaves almost bristling with their unseen passing. Occasionally their arms bumped against each other, hers brushing against the thick brown leather straps of his prosthetic arm. She sighed and glanced down at her side as they walked.
"Does it bother ya, mouse?" Merle asked brusquely.
Her brow puckered as she raised her eyes back up to his face. "Hmm? Does what bother me?"
"This. Lack of my hand," he raised the prosthesis between them and shook it, his head turned slightly to one side, steely blue eyes regarding her curiously.
She looked up at him shrugging, "Why would it? It's part of who you are Merle. It doesn't bother me at all."
Merle laughed, but she thought the sound was hollow and devoid of humour. "I saw the looks I got at Woodbury. Them dumbasses would jus' about piss their pants an' gawk at me like I was some kinda dumb fuckin' one man freak-show," his eyes narrowed warningly. "Seen them same looks back at the prison. I know exactly what I am sugar, but being a damn useless cripple ain't one of 'em."
She pursed her lips. He certainly wasn't that-a useless cripple. He handled himself more adeptly than most people she knew did with two good hands. "I'm sorry for what happened back at Atlanta. Nobody should have have gone through what you did."
"Ain't yer fault sister. Wasn't you that went an' left me handcuffed to a fuckin' drainpipe." Merle gazed steadily at the treeline, his hand clenching tightly at his side. "Was that high an' mighty sheriff asshole. Him and that damned chink kid. And..." He laughed again, but the sound felt bitter and painful to her ears. "And then...that damn piece of nigger shit, 'Mr Yo' went and dropped the fuckin' key. Well, I'm telling ya, I ain't done ever forgettin' that."
"Rick..."
"Fuck Rick! Ain't nobody ever given two shits 'bout me except my little brother." Merle spat quickly. He couldn't help the spiral of anger that built up within himself, couldn't stop or hold himself back as he leaned so close to her that their foreheads almost touched, his breath taut shallow angry puffs that ruffled the small curls in her greying hair. He knew that it wasn't her fault, but she was here and they wasn't and he felt the uncontrollable need to be pissed with someone, anyone-even though a small voice deep inside him told him to stop. He ignored that little voice, instead he reached out and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, his grip tight and firm, before slipping his hand from her shoulder, moving slowly to her face. His hand roughly cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing at her skin.
She held herself there rigidly, coolly defying him. "You're wrong Merle," she said softly.
His eyes narrowed angrily, "Wrong? I know I ain't nothing good, sugar, I never have been," he hissed. "Jus' don't go flattering yerself thinkin' that I fuckin' am. I'm a selfish son of a bitch, always have been-an' if it wasn't for my baby brother, I'd just dump yer fuckin' scrawny ass here." Merle fought back a sliver of guilt that speared him as he watched her eyes widen fractionally. He just stared at her, silence hanging heavily between them, and he was suddenly aware that her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue he'd ever seen. What would it be like to drown in those eyes? He swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the sudden thought as it prickled at him curiously. Merle sighed thinly, his brief rage fading as quickly as it had come, resting and souring dully in his gut. Jesus, he was turning into a goddamned fuckin' pussy...lil bro would be almost proud of him.
Carol knew as she watched him- if she let him get so much as a hint of a reaction, she would be undone and would lose any amount of respect from him. But, she would also refuse to be brow beaten by him. She'd been through similar with Daryl. She knew the drill down to the letter.
"And who's to say that I just wouldn't go and 'dump' your crippled ass here too, Merle?" She stood stock still, as his fingers grazed gently across her cheek. She held her breath steady at the sensation his action drew, ignoring the sudden clamoring inside of her. She just stared back at him instead, refusing to drop her gaze from his.
Merle laughed suddenly, the smile on his lined face large and surprisingly mirthful. His eyes followed his fingers as he trailed them down her cheek to her jaw, then his hand dropped reluctantly, his eyes snapping back to her face, hand thrusting back to his side. "Well goddamn it, mouse. You really are something, aint'cha?"
"Maybe," she gave him a small knowing smile, feeling the breath shake loose inside her.
He stood regarding her for a moment, his blue eyes smouldering, his gaze casually running up and down her small frame. "C'mon sweetcheeks, we need find some shelter 'fore the night kicks our asses." He shook his head smirking at her, then turned from her and strode off, his boots kicking up leaf debris in his wake.
As soon as his back was turned, she let the pent up air out in one long soft sigh. She half wondered if she had actually just won against him, but she wasn't quite sure just exactly what she had won. Her hand reached up and touched at the place where his fingers had been. Her skin still felt warm from his touch. When he had reached out to her, she'd had to steel herself against the old memories of Ed rising unbidden, but she'd just had this strange odd little faith that Merle for all his bluster and cursing, wouldn't have hurt her. The thoughts left her feeling confused and a little shaky that she'd actually let him touch her.
She sighed again, before she took to her feet and chased after him. She'd felt saddened by his outburst-what he had gone through back at that rooftop in Atlanta had scarred him in more more ways than he thought, and she wasn't sure she could blame him for that, either. It seemed to her, that maybe too often Rick would just decide to take matters into his own hands, and sometimes he never fully thought out the consequences of his actions.
"Well, look what we got here," Merle's voice was suddenly loud, breaking through the heady silence. A bird tore overheard through the dense foliage, squawking wildly at the sound. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, as she came up and stood just behind him, peeking over his shoulder.
A wooden shack stood in a small clearing, two windows either side of the door heavily nailed down with thick planks. A dilapidated porch hung precariously, a small pile of logs clinging to one end. Merle walked over to the hut, stooping slightly with his prosthesis raised at the ready. She took it as her cue to creep along side him, gingerly walking up the three wooden steps and flattening herself to the side of the door, as he gripped the handle, rattling it.
"It's locked. From the inside," he murmured.
She pulled her knife from the sheath at her waist, holding it firmly as he shouldered the door open.
He stood back, his hand held out flat towards her, cautioning her to hold her ground as the battered wooden door swung wildly on its hinges, creaking maddeningly. Merle stepped through the door before she could do or say anything, and the minute that he disappeared from sight was the longest minute she thought. Her breath caught in her lungs, and she sighed in relief as he poked his head back out.
"Ain't nothin' in here but some sad bastard that chose the easy way out." He looked at her grimly. "It's safe mouse, c'mon."
Her nose crinkled as the heady aroma of death and disuse assaulted her senses as she stepped into the small building, and she covered her face with her hand. She heard Merle's boots shuffle towards her, and she flinched despite herself when his hand touched at her shoulder.
The body was laying just beyond the doorway, a male wearing a dark plaid shirt and even darker denim jeans. The majority of his head was missing, the remains splattered dryly across the floor and at least halfway up the surrounding wall. She thought she could see a tuft of brown hair and patch of shriveled skin planted into the wood of the wall. Carol thought she was used to seeing death, but nothing ever really prepared her fully for it, no matter how many times she'd seen it. She felt bile rise hotly in her throat, and coughing abruptly, she shrugged Merle's hand off and sharply turned away from the sight.
...